Pro's and Con's
by dontfreakout
Summary: Pro: Chuck is a promising young agent on the up and up. Con? Sarah is one. When the powers that be order Agent Carmichael to capture the elusive Sarah Walker at all cost, fireworks are the least of their problems.
1. Chapter 1

**Pros and Cons**

**Summary: **Pro: Chuck is a promising agent on the up and up. Con? Sarah is one. When the powers that be order Agent Carmichael to capture the elusive Sarah Walker at all cost, fireworks are the least of their problems.

**A/N: **Don't worry ...Big Blasty Explosions is on its way, slowly but surely - I have a tonne of Uni work and I wrote this a while ago so I polished it up a bit on one of my breaks, hope you enjoy it.

**This has not been looked over by anyone, all my mistakes are my own. I apologise for any mistakes of which I' am sure there are plenty.  
**

**Disclaimer: Do not own Chuck.  
**

**Chapter 1**

"—_Aaaaany way you waaaaant it, that's the way you neeeeeeeeed it, any way you waaaaaaaant it_—"

Everyone in the warehouse froze as Journey blared from the inside of Chuck Bartowski's jacket. Mystified, the gangly nerd peered down, took in the face grinning in the small square of the call screen and grimaced. Loosening his long limbs out of the 'Morgan', ironically enough, Chuck schooled his expression apologetic and held up one finger at the waiting crowd of weapons-dealers.

"Sorry guys I'll just be a moment." And grin sheepish he hit 'talk' without any preamble.

Looks of confusion rippled across many thuggish faces.

Similarly confused and stood to Chuck's right, his expensive suit dripping a puddle on the concrete, Bryce Larkin cracked open his own eyes and stared dumbfounded at his partner. Chuck caught the look with a wince and cupped his phone into his shoulder.

"One sec." he mouthed and flashed his best wheedling grin with discreet thumbs up attached.

What little colour was left in Bryce's face drained and the Connecticut-born spy let his gaze drift around to the other inhabitants of the room. A sea of belligerent weapons dealers stared back at him and Bryce's shoulders bounced with a trickle of uneasy laughter as heavily tattooed thugs exchanged uncertain looks and lowered their weapons down in confusion.

This wasn't exactly an enviable position to be in.

Clearing his throat Bryce directed the attention on to him. "Gentlemen, just ah—one moment please, I need to—just need a second to confer with my partner over here—" Lips thin with a brittle smile for the benefit of the C.I.A most wanted Bryce cracked the corner of his mouth apart and latched on to Chuck's sleeve. "_Chuck _buddy_,_ what the hell are yo—"

Chuck waved him off and scrunched his brow low as he tried to listen to the voice on the other end. Bryce's jaw sagged open. No doubt reception was rather crackly out here, but _honestly. _Langley had long put up with Chuck's own brand of uniqueness as it had always turned up results and Bryce had to admit it kept things interesting but _this _was just plain ridiculous. They were in the middle of a negotiation for goodness sake. Spies just didn't take phone calls in the middle of a good old-fashioned standoff. He sucked a lungful of air. And God knows they needed some kind of miracle to get them out of this scrape. Catching a thug's eye Bryce bared his teeth into a weak smile and rolled his eyes at Chuck.

The henchmen responded with a blank look.

"Morg-Morgan," Chuck's nervous laugh broke through the hushed silence and hundreds of eyes swiveled on him. Chuck coughed at the sudden attention, neck curling red. Hunching his shoulders in he gathered the cell to his mouth and into the receiver he said, "Morgan, now is really not a good time." He glanced up and confirmed that with a small grimace.

The frantic burst of nonsense on the other end was cut off by Chuck pained response. "Little buddy now is _really_ not the tim—how many heavy gunners did you say?" Chuck flinched at the elbow he took to the flank and hastily corrected, "I mean—Morgan seriously I'm hanging up right now, I'll call you later little buddy. See ya—" he snapped the phone shut.

"Are you quite finished?" Bryce gritted out as he repositioned himself once more.

Chuck readjusted his vest and cleared his throat. "Yes," and colored a little. He coughed again and transferred his gaze back onto the crowd.

"Sorry about that, guys," Chuck spoke out with an air of sincerity and dipped his chin in apology. "Now—ah where were we?"

He stared into the crowd expectant and one intimidating thug stepped forward and cleared the back of his throat. "Nuclear codes?" he supplied.

Chuck brightened. "Ah yes," he nodded his gratitude to the man and then his shoulders squared.

Instantly every weapon in the room snapped back up and the click of the guns all being cocked sounded off as one.

Chuck and Bryce shot both of their arms in the air.

"Right," Chuck started. "If you guys don't hand over the nuclear codes you stole—" Chuck waved his right hand in the air for all to see.

"—We'll blow you up." Bryce smoothly interjected.

"We strongly urge you to consider you options, gentlemen." Chuck went on as he distributed his stare evenly.

The pause for dramatic effect caused Bryce to roll his eyes again for umpteenth time that day. Across the room the various crime lords and hired thugs bristled with scoffs and snorts.

"Yeah right," someone –Chuck couldn't pinpoint whom exactly—sneered through a thick accent. "You're bluffing."

Chuck and Bryce traded knowing glances.

"Are you gentlemen willing to bet that?" With deliberate slowness Chuck raised an eyebrow and reaffirmed his long finger grip around the handle of the dead man's switch.

A single voice cut through the bleakness and the hairs on the back of Chuck's neck rose.

"Yes."

Chuck cocked his head to the side.

And then as if it was the most simplest response in the world, he said: "It your funeral." and he let the device slip through his fingers.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"_That_ was your plan!"

The air filled with a series of grunts, groans and the odd curse or two at the Bartowski ancestry. Finally two sets of hands, bloodied and blackened with soot, curled around the lip of a rocky ledge and seconds later two disheveled, sweaty faces hauled into sight.

"I never said it was a good plan, Bryce." Chuck choked out as he made a grab for a handy protrusion and dragged himself onto his knees.

Bryce's jaw locked tight. "You actually wired the bomb, Chuck_._" And with more vehemence then necessary he snatched Chuck's helping hand and pulled himself to his feet. He shot his best friend a dirty look and proceeded to dust himself off. "In what universe did you _think_ that would work," Bryce went on with jerks of his lapel, his scowl growing more pronounced with each word.

Not in the least bit fazed Chuck shrugged out his shoulders, a smile twitching at his lips. Not giving anything away he flicked up his hand. "This universe."

Bryce whipped his head around at the tone. He knew that _bloody_ tone.

Crinkled in the ridge of two fingers, smoldering just a touch at the edges was a torn square of paper. The heavy smoke and weak sunlight made the untidy scrawl difficult to read but with widening eyes Bryce picked it out without much difficulty.

"The nuclear codes?"

"Of course." Chuck said feigning some affront at Bryce astonishment, but he was smiling openly now. "I pickpocketed it out of the commanders jacket after the first rigged explosive—"

The scowl made a reappearance.

At that Chuck looked at the very least, genuinely apologetic as he straightened out the shredded fabric of his own suit. "—If it helps, you completely sold it by the wa—"

In the distance another explosion rocked the world, blossoming huge and magnificent on the horizon like an orange fist punching the sky and a large chunk of warehouse hurtled in their direction. Out of instinct the duo ducked as a gust of heat drove into them followed by a high-pitch metallic wail of sound.

The floor disappeared momentarily from beneath their feet and reinserted itself with a knee rattling bang.

Coughing his vision clear again, Chuck frowned as the world persisted to ring oddly in his ears. A fist coaxing his heart into beating once more, Chuck latched hold of Bryce's shoulder and glanced over at the flaming wreckage burning a couple hundred feet away. His eyes wrinkled in thought. "Maybe not so much C4 next time."

Bryce shot him an even dirtier look.

"Kidding, kidding." Chuck amended with a slight grin. "Next time I'll warn you if—"

Chuck's words were cut short as 'Journey' once again blared from the inside of his breast pocket and Bryce tilted his head back into a groan.

Ignoring Bryce, he peered down at the call screen and straightened just a hair.

Face flattened into something more professional, Chuck flicked the phone open into his ear. "Bartowski secure."

"Aah, Bartowski good I was hoping to catch you after your mission. I take it was a—"

Whatever Graham said on the other line gave Chuck pause and the ganglier spy glanced over his shoulder at the still burning wreckage. "Of course Sir—" his eyes grew just the tiniest bit brighter. "It was a blast."

Chuck wedged the phone tighter to his ear so he could hear Graham's crackling response over Bryce's spontaneous coughing fit.

A smirk stretched. "Why, thank you for noticing Director." Behind him Bryce coughs turned into a loud scoff as he dabbed the cuff of his sleeve to a dribbling head wound. Chuck grinned into his phone and forced his eyes elsewhere as he listened to the head of the C.I.A.

Suddenly Chuck perked up.

"Langley, Sir?" Chuck glanced around at his surroundings as if mentally assessing something. Finally: "I'll be there first thing in the morning." The conversation dissolved into a series of 'hmm's' and 'aah's' until Chuck stood to attention once more.

"See you tomorrow, Director."

The phone snapped close and Chuck twisted a brief sidelong look at Bryce. "How's your hitchhiking thumb?"

Bryce chose to show him another working digit instead.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"This is your major threat to National Security?"

Just to be certain he still wasn't hallucinating after his trek through the desert the day before Chuck glanced down at the grainy surveillance photo clutched between his thumb and forefinger and squinted.

The face, just bright enough to make out under a thick thatch-like fringe, glared up at him with such frightening intensity Chuck blinked. The girls slip-thin figure furled out across the page aggressive and uncontained, fist balled and eyes rimmed red. Clearly a girl on the run—with nothing and everything to lose. Defiance and fear twisted her young face incomprehensible and upon closer inspection, hardened resolve shone bright in startling blue eyes. Clearly a girl on a mission. An acute shiver worked its way down Chuck spine.

A deep breath and still not bothering to hide the skepticism, Chuck's cut his gaze back up. "...A teenager?"

"No." Graham drew out in a calm voice. He met Chuck's gaze dead on. "A fugitive."

Chuck's eyes widened in surprise. "What?"

He inspected the photo again. The girl was barely out of her teens, aged beyond her years by some trauma or another. Although she looked capable of a lot, she barely looked capable of earning the attention of the C.I.A, much less the Director.

"That—" Graham spoke again. "—was the last ever captured footage of Jenny Burton."

Chuck's head snapped up. "Jenn—" Rumors, he had heard rumors, whisperings about a girl, a girl with such incredible skills she would have little qualms about quelling a revolution with only an eating utensil.

"—Aka Rebecca Frankel, Melissa Hart, Fiona Drake and every alias under the sun." Graham's disgust faded and his gaze drifted out of the window. "She currently goes by the name...Sarah Walker."

And the way he said her name, savored it on the tip of his tongue Chuck realized with a jolt there was some sort of history between the two. Graham stroked the side of his face in deep thought.

When the long stretch of uncomfortable silence became almost unbearable Chuck cleared his throat. "...Sir?"

Snapping out of whatever trance he was under Graham suddenly whirled back in his seat, all business. "The surveillance footage you hold in your hand was captured over ten years ago and since then Walker has been a ghost, swindling millions like her no-good father, intelligent enough never to leave a trail back to her." Graham steepeled his fingers together and Chuck knew what was coming. "...until _now_."

Chuck felt his breath catch.

"Yesterday analysts picked up chatter pertaining to a meet between Walker and Sheikh Rajiv Ahmad."

Chuck's eyes sparked with recognition. "He's been on the terror watch list for years, he's suspected of funding terrorist activity."

"Yes" Graham's eyes darkened with excitement. "And this is our opportunity to nail him to the wall and freeze his bank accounts."

Chuck absorbed this with a sage nod. "What's my mission?"

"You will pose as a new client of Walkers, the C.I.A has already set up a meet between the two of you and you will draw her out and then convince her to help us with Ahmad."

Chuck's teeth flashed slightly. "Consider it done, Sir."

Graham straightened in his seat. "You're the best the C.I.A has to offer Bartowski." Suddenly all the warmth left his voice and his eyes suddenly narrowed. "Do not let me down."

Chuck forced away the gulp. "Of course Sir, you can count on me."

Graham's eyes lingered on him a little longer then necessary. "I hope so, Bartowski."

The moment broke when Graham pulled open a draw and dug inside. "This is everything the C.I.A has on Walker and your mission brief."

Careful to maintain eye contact, although it twisted his insides slightly, Chuck accepted the decidedly thin dossier Graham held out for him and dropped his chin. "Thank you, Director."

Effectively dismissed Chuck turned on his heel, the folder slotted beneath his armpit, the innocuous paper-thin sleeve burning a hole of curiosity in the flank of his jacket. Just as he reached for the door handle, Graham's calm tenor carried across the room once more.

"Before I forget Bartowski, you'll be liaising with Major John Casey of the NSA," Something in Graham's tone spiked as if he knew Chuck's next response would be nothing but agreeable. "I hope this won't be a problem."

Opening his eyes, Chuck sucked in a deep breath and half-turned. He flashed his patented Bartowski grin. "Of course Sir, I revel in every opportunity to work with my NSA counterpart." That was a lie of course. Casey was a by-the-book burnout who liked to shoots things. A lot. Chuck wouldn't shoot anything if he could help it. They got along splendidly.

Grahams eyebrows rose. "Indeed." And there was a faint note of skepticism. Sensing this was his final dismissal Chuck wound an arm behind him and—

"—Bartowski—"

His hand froze atop of the door handle. He bit back a curse.

"—One more thing." Sunlight chose that moment to pour in through the floor to ceiling windows. "Me and Walker..."

Graham leaned in and a thin scar, ragged and discoloured over time, came into sharp focus along the side of his face snaking down from his brow to the curve of his jaw. Chuck felt a strange pull in his mid-section at the sight. "...have some unfinished business—

Chuck bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying anything stupid.

"—Capture her at all cost."

Chuck blinked.

"Yes, Sir."

And the intensity of the Director's gaze looked far more ominous then it should have been.

**Until next time :)**

**Dontfreakout  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Pro: Chuck is a promising agent on the up and up. Con? Sarah is one. When the powers that be order Agent Carmichael to capture the elusive Sarah Walker at all cost, fireworks are the least of their problems.**

**A/N: BOOM! Double update :D  
**

**Chapter 2 **

She was late.

"Bartowski, stop looking like such a damn sad-sack and mingle, _dammit_."

Adjusting the comm nestled in his ear Chuck sent a stink-eye in the direction of the bar where the current pain in his ear; Major John Casey added a lemon wedge onto the rim of a glass with a flourish incongruous for the beefy NSA agent. A scowl breaking his carefully manufactured appearance Chuck strode over to the other side of the party.

Fine. He'll mingle but he wouldn't be happy about it.

From the moment he had stepped foot outside of the Director's office Chuck had ruthlessly pushed down the urge to tear into the contents of the folder crushed beneath his armpit. Only when he was safely ensconced in the back of an unremarkable black sedan on its way to the airport and then towards his hometown of Burbank, had Chuck sated the urge. And since then Chuck had only grown more and more fascinated with this Sarah Walker person, only further intensified by the file now destroyed and the rumors that swirled on a endless loop in his head.

He had poured over every ounce of Intel the C.I.A had to offer on the mysterious women in question and although it was sparse the information they had somehow obtained, depicted a woman who was incredibly impressive. And Chuck had to admit he was impressed. The things she had pulled—had gotten away with – Chuck couldn't help but admire her. A criminal through and through—just like her father before her—but there was no denying Sarah Walker had style.

Chuck sidestepped a boisterous couple and swept his stare around the party. The meet for the rendezvous was a strange one, a fancy benefit party of sorts, filled to the rafters with glittery dresses and shiny tuxedos. The room was thick with people all caught up in amorous chatter and expensive alcohol. He had expected a smoky bar caught in the shadows of some boardwalk, home to all kinds of crooks and criminals, not a party so out in the open – almost as if she was mocking the C.I.A. It brought a twisted sort of smile to his face.

Every second that ticked on by Chuck found himself almost rooting for Sarah Walker.

Almost.

Another quick sweep, on the look out for any strange anomalies, and Chuck had to admit on the other hand, maybe it was actually a perfect setting for a clandestine conversation or two, as the idle chit chat and carrying laughter provided seamless white noise.

Although that—as Chuck shoved past a gaggle of overly made-up woman—could be a big disadvantage too.

Overhead the chandelier sparkled as Chuck slipped through the crowds unnoticed and unseen as he familiarized himself once more with the layout of the ballroom. Having been a CIA agent since his second year of college he had become well versed on dinner party etiquette, scoring high marks at the farm for anything and everything revolving around personality and purporting oneself. As he mingled his way deeper into the heart of the party, laugher tinkling and glasses clinking throughout, Chuck made sure to keep his movements outwardly relaxed even though inwardly it was an entirely different story.

He picked up on every glaring detail the party had to offer. He located and catalogued, as he pretended to nod at invisible colleagues here and there, the number of cameras blinking in the corner, the number of handpicked agents trying and failing to blend into the background, the six exits he had clocked upon entrance. He also saw much to his delight a waiter weave expertly in and out of an incoming crowd.

Graham was apparently very keen to get his hands on Sarah Walker, Chuck thought as he made a beeline towards the prim looking man, he had issued two surveillance vans to monitor closely the activities of the party and had sent every available agent it seemed, to assist Chuck. Plucking the stem of the champagne glass with an ease achieved over the course of his CIA career, Chuck raised the sparkling liquid to his lips, bobbed ever so slightly to the music, turned and—froze.

Chuck felt his grip on reality loosen.

Felt everything slow down until all he could make out was the sparkling clarity of everything pertaining to...her. Felt the world jerk off it axis and pull to a rumbling stop as the lights overhead strained to shine brighter. Felt all of that until reality reinserted itself with a hard elbow to the back. Champagne slopped down his front and Chuck bit back a curse. The mission _dammit_! He shouldn't be ogling females from across the room. Especially females so breathtakingly gorgeous they cou—_Focus dammit. _Cheeks coloring he made a pathetic attempt to dab the worst of the drink of his white shirt. But it was apparently useless.

Teeth setting Chuck dropped the glass back onto a passing silver tray and made a beeline towards the bar. He should be working, should be the one passerby's fell over themselves for – certainly not the other way around.

Commandeering a rag, Chuck rubbed at the linen of his shirt with furious swipes. Honestly she wasn't even that—

"Are you alright there?"

—Beautiful.

Chuck glanced up and all the words he had ever known died in his throat. The vision of statuesque loveliness who had stood on the far side of the dance floor only moments ago now stood mere inches away from him, closer even because of the music and Chuck felt his ministrations with the rag slow to a stop.

She was even more breath-taking close up.

Chuck's mouth dropped open. "I—" confusion reared. "Wha...?"

Later when Chuck would be able to think again, much less breathe, he would clout himself on the back of the head for that one.

But she chuckled of all things; a tinkling bell-like melody that made her perfect teeth flare and her eyes flash blue. "I said _are_ you alright there?"

The way in which she seemed to flitter in and out existence like scudding clouds across the face of a bright silvery moon made her seem ethereal, like she couldn't possibly exist right now.

He should really say something. Something smart. Or funny. Maybe witty? And in the time those thoughts clunked along in his brain too much time had passed because bafflement creased her perfect face and Chuck felt sinking horror fill him. He should say something. NOW preferably. Anything. And when his brain started firing neurons and whatnot, he fully intended to.

Except her long black hair chose that moment to dance along the column of her neck, sweep dizzy little patterns in the dip of her collarbone and enthral Chuck with each individual strand that caught the glitter of the chandeliers above and fell across her face. And what a face it was. Flawless, faultless, make-up brushed on soft, applied with a vigilant hand. A collection of sharp points and smooth pale flesh, framed by glossy loose curls of black and anchored by eyes so deep and blue that for all of its perceived hardness held just as much playfulness in the sparkling edges of her irises.

When he realized he had been staring for far too long, motionless for far too long, her brilliant frost blue eyes almost slitting with a puzzled suspicion that made his insides twist tight, he spasmed upright and choked out laughter.

"Yeah of cou—I mean yes, am fine thank you, I—I just spilt my drink you see." And because Chuck was an idiot at these things he pointed at the aforementioned stain blossoming along his shirtfront. He glanced up and smiled. A bit too wide and a bit too eager and he could feel it crackle and spark at the edges with nervous energy. Something about her felt familiar, something about her tugged at Chuck's memory, especially her eyes, the glinting crystal blue of it —but Chuck dismissed that as crazy. Because a women this beautiful, this luminous in a room full of glitter would be impossible to forget.

That last made his face scrunch. What the hell was the matter with him? He was a spy not a lovesick nerdherder.

Following his finger, still damningly thrust towards the stain, with low whistle attached, she examined the full extent of the damage and Chuck could see at the very edges of her polite veneer, the strain of her trying to hold back the laughter.

Would the torture never end?

Suddenly he remembered the rag in his hand. "Erm—I'm fine, nothing a little elbow grease can't sort out." And to show how completely unaffected he was he beamed...at his feet.

Her reaction to that Chuck had no clue, but if he had glanced up he would had caught the strange flicker in her eyes.

Rag still gripped in hand and since his brain had apparently grinded to a stop somewhere between motionless fool and dumbfounded idiot he focused instead on making his fingers work again. What on earth had gotten into him? He needed to be on the look out for Walker a furious voice whispered into his ear, one that sounded an awful lot like Casey—not making a fool of himself in front of this woman. The rag shuddered along his shirt, caught in a sodden fold of the linen and his fingers twitched away.

God, he couldn't even clean himse—

Soft hands, the softest he had ever encountered brushed against his knuckles and persuaded the damp rag out of his hold and despite the fact it could very well melt his brain Chuck cut his gaze up.

"Here, let me."

Chuck nearly died on the spot.

"Erm I – I thin—" Before he could even come up with a lousy excuse full of holes and potential for future humiliation the raven-haired goddess began, with movements so meticulous, to dab at the blotches on his shirt.

And now Chuck was certain he had dropped dead and had gone straight to heaven.

"—It doesn't look to bad, in fact its hardly noticeable."

She was speaking (and smiling) and Chuck forced himself to listen and stop thinking about baseball, which he knew absolutely nothing about.

"Yea—" her fingers inadvertently grazed his stomach. "—_aaah?"_

"Yep," she confirmed with bright eyes. "Good as new, in fact you look handsome enough to ask me to dance now."

When she moved her lips, the brand of lipstick she used shimmered and—wait what? Chuck's head snapped up, surely he had misheard that one. "I'm sorry—_what_?"

Maintaining eye contact she pressed the damp rag into his chest and said with a laughing whisper. "I said you should ask me to dance now." And she tilted her head to the side, a smirk creeping.

How many seconds passed before Chuck gave a coherent response he didn't know, how many seconds passed before all of the gears in his brain clunked into place—again he had no idea—but all he knew was that the most beautiful woman in the room had asked him to dance and damn his limbs to hell if they didn't immediately start to tango in that moment.

When it became apparent he had a second to respond or pass out from sheer bliss before she alerted the men in white coats, the world slammed back into focus and the receding colours of the ballroom flared back into existence. He tossed the rag aside.

"It is? – I mean of course it is," Chuck straightened out in an unconscious effort to appear more—well anything better then he was being right now—masculine perhaps, _suave_? — And forced the muscles in his arm to unlock. "Well erm—"

–"_Bartowski stop making googly eyes with the obviously brain-dead socialite and find Walk_—"

Yanking the comm out with a surreptitious scratch at his hairline, he dropped it in his back pocket, flashed his new dance partner his most dazzling of smiles, the one that said he couldn't quite believe this was happening to him and held out his arm out for her to take.

"—shall we?"

He hadn't meant to phrase it as a question, but he felt it was warranted what with her being so out of this world beautiful, so _Miranda Lawson_ beautiful. When she grinned, looped her arm through his without little prompting Chuck's smile increased in both wattage and size—possibly making him responsible for at least a third of Burbank's light pollution, and together they wound through the multitude of guests and with each step Chuck forced air in and out of his lungs.

He felt dizzy. Lightheaded. Understandable given the woman latched on his arm. The same woman currently tracing listless patterns into the smooth fabric of suit swathed over said arm.

His brain felt leaky. Like one wrong tilt and brain matter would spill to the floor. What were the odds of that actually happening? Before he had locked gazes with this woman Chuck had considered himself smart.

Beneath his feet, the subtle shift of flooring told him he would have to dust off some old agency moves sometime soon, at that he couldn't help the spurt of nerves. Back at the farm all of those years ago, once he had learned to reign in his long limbs and move with a fluency that almost made his instructor cry, Chuck had become an old hand at dancing. How he would manage now, all frazzled and stressed and her constant _smile_ searing into him from all angles, he had no clue.

They reached an adequate stretch of dance floor and Chuck fumbled on his feet to turn and face her.

Her face shone with sheer radiance.

Each new smile she flashed his way threatened to pull Chuck under. But it helped quiet the frantic voice in his head that reminded him of the mission_! _The one that said he needed to be on the look out for Walker. It also made loud the other voice, the other voice that said he wanted this, needed a break. _Hell_—deserved a break and what better a break then a dance with a beautiful woman willing to dance with him—willingly might he add.

Chuck felt an electric thrill shoot his spine straight at that thought. He had plenty of time to find Walker; after all he was the C.I.A's best.

As the first strains of slow music drifted overhead, the mysterious woman wound an arm around his neck, settled her fingers at the base where she gave an experimental tug at the tuft of hair that curled there.

Chuck felt his pulse skid.

Music reared high pitch and delicate and they fell into step immediately, straight back and perfect posture, all grins and sparkly teeth. In perfect time to the music, he gave an artful twist here and dipped her there, he lifted her here and a twirled her there. When the music picked up pace so did they and they mirrored each other with flawless precision.

As if they had done this one to many times before.

When he yanked her back up and they once more swayed face to face with each other, she raised her eyebrow not quite able to contain her surprise.

"Dancing lessons." Chuck supplied with a slight smile. "My sister made me."

"Really?" Her lips crept higher with an impish sheen attached and Chuck dipped her low, exposing the long curve of her neck. He fought down a groan. "Was it worth it?"

"I'm starting to think so," Chuck edged out of the corner of his mouth as he looked left then snapped his head right to the beat.

The woman's smile didn't waver; in fact Chuck swore it grew in size and mischief. "Me too."

Chuck's resulting expression caused her head tipped back and laugh. The raw melodic quality of it caused his stomach to pitch and somersault and Chuck bit his bottom lip to stop himself swearing. If he wasn't careful years worth of training and procedure could vanish in a heart beat.

"So tell me about yourself..." she trailed off and fluttered so close Chuck felt her hand ghost along his hip.

"Carmichael!" Chuck squeaked out. He turned bright red. "I mean—ahem—_Charles_ _Carmichael—" _That sounded pompous_. "_Chuck! —" Great, now he sounded eight. "My — friends they call me Chuck"

His eyes slid to a temporary close. He should just stop talking all together. If Casey could hear him now... Chuck couldn't even bare the thought.

"Chuck..." she considered as her teeth spread with a split-second of brilliance before she twisted out of his grip, dropped waist-height and smirked up at him. She stuck her hands up.

Chuck obliged her with surprising strength and they collided bodily. A damning curl of red heated beneath his collar.

"I'm just your average nerd," Chuck cast out vaguely as they rocked their hips in sync. The women kicked her leg out and Chuck dutifully hooked his arm around the length of it and carried her the span of the dance floor, her night black locks swinging. When Chuck slid her out of his grasp she snapped her head back up into his neck and Chuck froze for the second time that day.

She smelt of lavender.

"Is that so, Chuck—_Charles Carmichael_?" she whispered, her words tickling his throat. Chuck blew a noisy breath and before he could let this woman's _anything_ cloud his judgment he snapped their arms taunt to give his poor brain a moment's peace.

When she rolled back into his embrace, her back slamming into his front, Chuck dipped his chin so it rested on the stretch of tanned skin between her collarbone and neck.

"Yes."

The muscles in her shoulder locked tight and Chuck felt that thrill of satisfaction shoot through his veins when she responded with her own slight shiver.

Two could apparently play at that game.

"So what is it your average geek does these days?" and in a blink she was once again facing him, arm looped around his neck and smile channeling light sources of all shapes and sizes.

"Nerd." Chuck corrected as he resettled his grip on her waist and shrugged in shoulders in an attempt at nonchalance. "I-erm –Oh you know this and..._that_?"

"Really." They weaved in and out of fellow partygoers and the woman gave a defiant quirk of his brow. "And care to explain what this and that means for those of us who are less educated on _nerds _today_._"

Chuck breathed an uneasy laugh through his nose, inwardly cursing the fact the C.I.A had lumped him with the worst cover story in the history of the C.I.A.

He glanced anywhere but her face. "I err—work with computers..."

In the edges of his eyes he saw her expression blaze bright at the challenge and his lips pressed tight knowing what was coming next.

"Where?" all innocent and coquettish.

"Oh you know...at a store." Chuck hedged.

"Oh" her eyebrows rose and Chuck knew he should just admit defeat. "Which store? Perhaps I've heard of it."

"_Theburbankbuymore—_Hey look crab dip!" Chuck tried to manoeuvre them towards the floating silver tray of entrée but the woman was a damn rock.

She stared at him. "The Burbank Buy More?"

Even though it pained him like an actual physical ache Chuck nodded.

She stared at him as if he had just come from another planet altogether and when he couldn't take the stunned silence anymore she did the last thing he expected. She burst out laughing. That developed quickly into barks of badly suppressed laughter. That quickly became muffled into his shoulders, mirth rocking her shoulders up and down.

Chuck groaned at the ceiling. Bloody C.I.A. "I just haven't reached my potential yet...give me a couple of years."

Her laughter dissolved into a giggle and then into the odd snort or two and finally she brushed away a stray tear. When she caught his aggrieved expression she immediately sobered. "I am sorry that was rude—I-I just didn't expect that—" and she jerked her arm out to encompass him. "You just seem the rich software type."

Only sometimes when the C.I.A deigned him to be.

"Your forgiven" Chuck heaved out in a good-natured way and she beamed. "And maybe one day, am still working on my five year plan."

She shot him a look full of consideration and smoothed his collar straight. "Hmm, I bet you look cute in green."

"Actually I'm a nerdherder I wear a white shir—Do you know what never mind." He resisted the urge to bury his head into her shoulder, although now that he thought about it, it was a hard temptation to resist.

She looked like she wanted to laugh again but thankfully she resisted and good thing too, Chuck felt his masculinity couldn't take another hit.

They continued to revolve around the dance floor her gaze on him throughout like she was sizing him up or somethi—she leaned in. Close "So how does a nerdherder like yourself get in a swanky party like this?"

Chuck almost slipped.

"—Connections, I have excellent connections..." he coughed to cover up his blush—God, her hair smelt good.

She pursed her lips. "You must do."

Chuck recovered and straightened out just a touch. "What about you?..." he tipped his chin and then frowned. "Sorry I didn't get your name."

"I didn't give it." Was her enigmatic response. Before Chuck could ask she drew closer to him and a smile pulled her lips apart to reveal bright square teeth. "I'm friends with the host." when she nodded to some obscure corner of the party, Chuck pretended to acknowledge, while really admiring the muted glow of her skin.

God, when did it get so-ooo hot in here. Chuck resisted the urge to tug at his collar and instead forced his gaze steady and his smile distinct. "And do you frequent parties like this all the time?"

He hoped she didn't notice the fresh layer of sweat that just sprouted across his forehead. The second she arced her back in answer to the music, Chuck hurriedly mopped it up with the back of his sleeve.

"When I need to," she said with an expression that gave nothing away. "What about you?"

When had breathing been so difficult before? It felt like air had been swapped out for concrete.

"Sometimes, when I want a taste of how the other half lives." He attached a smooth smile at the end of that line but the silkiness of it became somewhat ruined when he dropped his stare down at his shoes.

They were scuffed; he should really sort that out.

"Really? And how are we fairing this evening?" The music switched to a more sedate tempo and instead of letting him go she merely rearranged her steps and continued to dance with him. It lifted something inside of him.

"The crab dip's a bit stale."

When her head tilted back like that, tiny sparks of mischief wafted a fresh layer of lightness over her features, made her already pleasant laughter velvety smooth and rough and creased well-treaded lines of humor into the edges of her eyes.

"Well I'll be sure to alert the kitchen."

"And" Chuck went on, fascinated "Is the air conditioning even turned on" he gave a quick yank of his collar in demonstration and shook his head.

Her own shoulders bounced again, amusement luminous. "And?" she pressed.

"Well your bartender makes grunting a necessary vernacular." Thoughts of Casey's reaction to that made him manfully contain his laughter.

"Hmm"

A playful twinkle entered his eyes. "And the company—" something or more aptly someone pushed through the crowds, innocent except their steps were precise, purposeful. Chuck gave an unobtrusive lift of his shoulder and—

"—And the company" she repeated pulling back into the present, eyes strangely bright.

"And the company..." Chuck drew out slow and dazed and promptly he forgot about everything else.

Because in the that moment her face was so devastatingly _real, _so devastatingly full of an emotion that Chuck couldn't even decipher, so pale and sharp that it ground to halt all the commotion surrounding them, that it shut off the switch in Chuck's brain that constantly simmered with his default agent settings and it slowed Chuck's heartbeat way down—way, way down—so that now he could only feel and hear every tremor, every shake of his heart thud throughout his whole lanky being, wobble at the foundations of his self. Under her fixed stare Chuck felt as if his skin was enveloped in fire, bubbling and popping with its sheer intensity.

He swallowed.

"...Is not half ba—_mpffgh_!"

The last thought Chuck entertained before her lips crashed against his was that she tasted of strawberries.

After that Chuck's brain registered only a few things before it obliterated into a messy pile of mush. Fast and sweet, slow and hard, the kiss pulled at the very corners of his existence, shook through his body like an electric current. Surprised the hell out of him. A fist crushed his lapel. A breathy moan shuddered down his throat. He could taste the champagne she had drunk earlier, could feel the heady slivers of it fusing with his bloodstream. Hands, his own, scrabbled at the air before they jolted around her neck in comprehension.

The explosive punch of rockets, flamethrowers, nun-chucks and ninja starsw all rolled up into one.

Seconds stretched into minutes and minutes stretched into God knows how long and as familiar as her lips felt melded into his, it was suddenly just as over.

He blinked several times. Who was more surprised it was hard to judge. Her breathing was more panting then actual measured breaths of air and her skin was flushed a bright shade of red. They were still tangled close, his hands now resting on her waist and hers loose around his neck. She was staring at him as if she had only just noticed him for the first time, the oddest expression breezing across her face. Until all of a sudden – as if she was realizing herself, pupils darting past his shoulders– her face smoothed.

Her cheeks were still red though.

Something akin to panic and possibly confusion fluttered for a brief millisecond. Then a nervous laugh escaped her cool veneer and maybe it was the lighting but Chuck saw her eyes squeeze tight at that. "I t-think—" Her fingers ringed the air as she tried to conjure words. "—I think I may need to use the restroom for a second."

Another burst of uneasy laughter and he felt her body shift against him as she pulled back. Breath uneven and cool on his skin.

Nod. He should nod. But he couldn't. He couldn't't move an inch. All of his functioning body parts felt heavy with sweat and incompetence. Everything felt tingly, strange and almost unreal, like an absurdly vivid dream. But when smooth hands made to pry his away from her waist in gentle, almost delicate movements, he started back in surprise.

She met his gaze almost apologetic, bottom lip puckered beneath her teeth and shoulder half-risen in apology.

At the last second Chuck remembered himself. "I er – yes the restroom! Yeah, good idea – I'll just –" Grin cracking he made a show of un-snaking his arms and held them out in the air. "There you go y–you, your—erm free—to go—You_ know—_" he shrugged out and _tried_ for casual. "–if you want?"

Where were one of those heavy-set thugs when you needed one? The ones with the great hammy fist and ready grunts of malcontent.

White-hot embarrassment shot vivid through his bloodstream, wonderfully vivid and he clenched his fist tight to stop the next words lining behind his lips.

When did he get so pathetic? And why couldn't he stop smiling like a damn fool. It was like the muscles in his mouth seemed to be conspiring against him. A small consolation however was she looked as – if not more – stunned then him and seemed to match his too-wide, too-bright grin for grin, the awkwardness layering in snug around them.

A shoulder hitched uncertain and dropped. "I-I'm sorry—I better go" the way in which her eyes seemed to shift around their setting more then once should have raised some red flags in Chuck. But too transfixed by the way her lips moved, he missed it. "Er I'll–" she threw her hand in an fluttery sort of half-wave "–see you" a

Chuck raised his hands in a good imitation of a wave "By-"

A fleeting glimpse of her face: frazzled, urgent...regret? And then she was gone. Vanished quick into the hordes of partygoer's. Swallowed all of sudden whole by the glittery dresses and impeccable suits.

"-eeee." Chuck let his hand fall limp.

That was strange.

But Chuck didn't dwell on it too long because the sudden urge to topple in on himself swelled large and welcoming underneath his sternum. She had kissed him. An angel had kissed him.

It tingled surreal throughout his body, the whole experience. Like a chanced meeting with his hero, burnt in his mind but missing vital details. He wanted to sit, or maybe lie as that seemed like something he was more capable of at the moment.

Breath still foreign in his throat and limbs all attached uneven, before Chuck could even think to search for a chair, a painful vice-like grip exploded in his shoulder and ripped the world out of focus. The ballroom twisted into a multicolored blur until it slammed down with kneecap shattering hardness and John Casey's face burst out like the Jack-in-the-box from hell.

"Casey, Wha—what the hell!" Chuck stumbled back and away. All too aware that Casey's face in no way compared to that his mysterious dance partner. For one it was practically foaming at the mouth. And two, didn't smell quite as pretty.

"Hi, loverboy," Casey snarled out. "...Having fun?"

It sounded like a trap, but Chuck could feel the lack of _her _presence like a sudden punch to the gut and the irritation prickled at his throat. "...I was." The petulance clear.

Casey's eyes formed dangerous slits. "Well I hope letting Walker go was apart of your master plan, Romeo."

Chuck's brow scrunched. "Letting Walke—what are you on about?" What the hell did Sarah Walker have to do with this.

Casey's eyes widened before they sharpened with a malicious sort of glee. "You mean to tell me C.I.A, you exchanged saliva with some air-head bimbo and didn't realize it was Walker playing you for a fool?" At Chuck's blank look he began to bark laughter. "Oh that's rich."

"Playing me for a foo—" What on earth was Casey rattling on about, honestly the years were starting to catch u—and then the rest of NSA agent's words landed. Sarah Walker. _Sarah Walker_? Wait. The Sarah _Walker_. Chuck's eyes flew open. No it couldn't be. He hadn't—the mark! He had been dancing with the _MARK!_ Suddenly Chuck's hands scrambled at his trouser pockets and when he didn't feel the sharp corner of his C.I.A credentials—hidden beneath his Buymore I.D—his eyes slid to a resounding close.

"_Shit_."

And on top of everything else, he could _feel _Casey's smirk burn into him.

"I guess its true what they say about, Walker." Came Casey's gruff words lined with its signature snark.

Although he knew it would only bite him in the ass Chuck cracked open on eye and humored him. "Yeah? ...And whats that?"

"She eat's C.I.A infants like you for dinner."

Before Chuck could make an ill-advise retort about NSA dinosaurs an agent decked in full uniform cut through the surprised crowds and skidded to a stop in front of them. Ignoring Chuck completely he directed an update to Casey. "She's not in the bathroom, Sir."

Casey's eyes bulged. "Well look somewhere else then!" he swung around, all business. "Same goes for you C.I.A, unless you're incompetence extends to your job as well."

He didn't hang around for a comeback and pushed pass a gossiping couple, sneer implied. Before Chuck could even think to lift any stunned stupid limb belonging to him and stare at it in confusion, Casey reappeared again. A scowl in place.

"Oh and one more thing—" Casey seized the seat of Chuck pants.

"—_Hey!_"

"—This." A translucent ear bud rolled once on the pad of Casey's thumb and forefinger. "—Stays in your ear at all time, you got that moron?"

Once again not interested in Chuck's input on the subject, something rammed hard into his left ear and Chuck just about cut off his girlish cry.

When he opened his eyes Casey was gone. And so was any hope of defending his lousy spy-work.

A lost battle anyway.

Tuning out the panic and the gossip Chuck swiveled his attention back to the spot _Sarah Walker _had vacated what felt like a lifetime ago.

Sarah Walker.

Sarah _fucking _Walker.

He couldn't believe it. If was some kind of cosmic joke. It felt like a cosmic joke. He had been played. Played like a video game set on easy mode. And by Sarah Walker. Of all people. The women he had been sent to track down. Hadn't he just been enamored with her only a little while ago, admired her style, her finesse.

Well now she had gone and made it personal. By kissing him. And kissing him well. Any longing and awe he had felt for her or about her had been pushed to the backseat the second white-hot humiliation entered his veins.

He needed to make this right and quick.

He needed to get his hands on Sarah Walker and fast.

His eyes narrowed at the exit sign.

* * *

**Until next time,  
**

**Dontfreakout.  
**


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